Golden Boy vs. Black Sheep

Driving back last night, I was trying to wrap my mind around a couple things. 

The first of which was how my Aunt Shannon actually thought she might screw up my niece's computer by logging on to caringbridge.org using her own email address on a computer that was not hers. Ummm.....I am sure you were just kidding....right? Please tell me? Right? 

The second idea...was much more complex. All families with multiple children have to know exactly what I am talking about here..... Quinlan kids....3 boys, 1 princess...whoops...sorry Quinner that slipped! 

In every family...there is a "chosen one". Now, bear in mind, this "chosen one" is not necessarily chosen by the parents, but this is a perception that siblings must have in order to properly rank their importance in the herd. Brother Patrick perceived me as the golden boy. 

To this day, it baffles me. I mean, sure, my folks paid for my college, allowed me to travel the world on their dime, helped me buy my first house and my second house, and "gave" me a canoe livery. But aside from that, I got no preferential treatment. All the while, Patrick was raising babies. Three young ladies...on his own. Times were very tough for Patrick, I know, I used to drive by his house....and slow down. It looked TOUGH! 

This path in life created a natural "edge" between us. At times, it became very intense. 

In 1988 we received a "Christmas in July" check from my Grandmother Margaret. My father, Patrick and I all ended up at Fred's bar in Roscommon. It was a joyous occasion, with lots of laughter, beer, and shots. Amidst all this joy, I decided to confront Patrick about an old debt. The details of this debt are not important, suffice it to say he "totally boned me" on a utility bill that he set up at his house in my name! I knew he had the cash in his pocket to cover it. I demanded payment. He reached in his pocket, and pulled out a fist full of NOTHING and said, "this is exactly what you're getting from me....tonight."

SECONDS later, there we were, in the parking lot, battling like only true brothers could. YEARS of frustration being laid out on the pavement. My father was in a state of shock, powerless to stop the EMOTIONALLY charged battle. I was tough as hell back in those days...Patrick was much tougher! 

When the dust settled, and cops rolled in, Patrick climbed off of me. He looked me right in the eyes and said, "I could have killed you golden boy...but I didn't."

I would give ANYTHING to have that battle with you again, Black Sheep. 

Anything! (and if I have to let you win again....I will!) 

GB 

Brian Quinlan

Caddy Shack

Written Sep 15, 2011 9:01am

 I have to go all the way back to 1980 for this story...

My brothers and I got jobs as caddies at Orchard Lake Country Club down in Oakland county.

I was pretty focused on the gig, carrying as many bags as I could, and working towards buying a new Mongoose BMX bike. It took only a few months, and I was promoted to Honor Caddy, which allowed me some freedoms, and big tips that many others could only dream about. Patrick was not all that impressed, and enjoyed his B caddy status. Most of his days were spent at the caddy shack (not on the course!). He was our comedic relief, and was constantly involved in some sort of caddy mischief. Our Caddy Master was a guy named Kirk Heart. He was a complete ass in every sense of the word. Obviously he and Patrick had very different goals for Patrick!

Caddy "golf day" every Monday was huge in terms of fun, as we had the entire course to ourselves. Patrick, not being a golfer (and barely a caddy!), remained pretty uninvolved. I made the mistake of golfing with a caddy buddy of mine who had been suspended for "un-caddy like behavior". Upon hearing the news on the following Tuesday morning, I was fired. At 15 and desperately devoted to overachieving, I was absolutely crushed. I went back to the Caddy Shack, and reported the news to Patrick. I remember the look in his eyes, and saw it years later in the eyes of William Wallace in the movie Brave Heart. There were about 20-30 guys sitting around us in the shack, all waiting for our absolutely fearless leader to make his decision. As tears welled up in my eyes,  fire welled up in Patrick's heart. Two fist pounds on the table later, he started his walk down the hill towards Kirk Heart, in the Caddy Master shack. We followed. Patrick out front, and an even larger crowd growing behind him.

A small part of me wanted to warn Kirk of what was coming, but this was truly out of my hands, and firmly in Patrick's. As Kirk stepped out of that little box he worked in, I remember him looking so small and insignificant. From Caddy Master to weasel in an instant.

As we all stood in awe, we listened to Patrick verbally destroy him (he had obviously been practicing his cussing intertwined with anatomy), his attack was both relentless and brilliant. This culminated in approximately 40 of us CHEERING AND CLAPPING WILDLY!!!!!!!!

As the dust settled, William Patrick Wallace Quinlan walked slowly into the sunrise. Now jobless, without any money in his pocket, but oh so wealthy with principle, integrity and glory.

I was completely amazed by his fearless leadership that morning. I still am.

I shook his hand as he walked out of the Caddy Shack, I could not thank him enough for defending his brother in such fine fashion. 

Of course, I waited about 15 minutes before I walked down the hill and begged Kirk for my job back.

Looking back now, I think they had those caddy rankings all out of whack. Oh, we did have an Honor Caddy in the family, but it wasn't me.

love, B-caddy

Brian Quinlan

Inter State Party

The jury is still out, but at this point it looks like a coordinated effort from four states. Graduation, Good Bye, Reunion, and No Reason at all, are reason enough to party. Tampa on the bay is the place to play. Part of my responsibilities for this event in 

November are to work on the music. The word out of Tampa is a boat party. Colleen pictured this boat for me, but I am still uncertain as to its availability for the week of the party. 
It turned out the boat was unavailable, but it didn't make no never mind with our party signature song intact.

 

Chase Boat

[note: after Patrick's motorcycle accident last September, I was incredibly worried, scouring facebook for a status update, photo or any hopeful news at all. Thankfully, someone initiated an online care journal where Patrick's progress and encouraging thoughts could be added and shared. Brian wrote several entries that made me understand what laughing and crying simultaneously felt like. - CQ]

Written Sep 13, 2011 12:54pm

I remember a few years back when you decided that you were going to paddle the straights of Mackinac. After some discussions about your plan, and your route, I suggested you get a "chase boat" ...just in case someone was to flip or experience some unexpected challenge.

You said, "I don't need any effin' chase boat!" and you were correct. You and your crew made it with little difficulty. Perfect day...perfect friends...perfect experience.

This term is just stuck in my mind today. Chase boat. 

There have been hundreds, if not thousands, of times you have affected others and helped them through a difficult time by being their chase boat. You, my brother, don't need a chase boat, because you ARE a chase boat. You will be needed again and again to fill this role for your friends and family....we are here for you now, and we know you will be there for us in the future!

(I did peel a $20 out of your fanny pack at the hospital. You said you would pay me back this week - you did!)

 Brian Quinlan

Don't Take Your Guns to Thompsons

When the Quinlan Clan first moved to town, Keego  Harbor to be exact, the main game with our new neighbors directly across from our house was kick the can. The equipment wasn't expensive and easy to replace if it was damaged. Joseph William (Joe) was in elementary school at the time.

Further down the street lived the Thompsons. Being an adventurer, Joe would walk down the road and play with them, even though they were somewhat older. One summer day, when Joe was walking back, it appeared something had run amuck, perhaps foul play. Cowboy guns were twisted around, hair messed up, but still singing a Johnny Cash tune he loved:

  Don't take your guns to Thompsons
  Leave your guns at home Bill 

His lyrics were skewed, but the meaning 
clear.